


The Crying Game

by Calacious



Series: Comfort in November and December 2020 [9]
Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Comfortember, Disturbed Child, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Cannibalism Mentioned, Moresome Hinted At, Murder of a Child by a Child, Other, Some kissing, disturbing imagery, drinking mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: The murder of Robbie Parsons was a very disturbing affair, made worse by listening to the confession of the twelve year old who murdered him.
Relationships: Joyce Barnaby/Tom Barnaby, Joyce Barnaby/Tom Barnaby/Ben Jones (kind of)
Series: Comfort in November and December 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996825
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Comfortember 2020, Midsomer_Melee





	The Crying Game

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Comfortember Prompt: Crying
> 
> The words, crying game, got stuck in my head and when I sat down to write, this is what happened.

“It was just a game,” the twelve year old, a boy named Toby says. There’s a cruel look in his eyes that a novice might mistake for remorse, but Tom Barnaby is no novice, and he recognizes the look in the boy’s eyes for what it is. 

“I see,” Barnaby says. “So it was just a game to beat young Robbie Parsons to death with a hammer and then hack his body into pieces with a machete, and force his little brother to eat portions of it?”

“Wouldn’t’ve happened if he hadn’t cried,” Toby says, shrugging, showing his true colors in the way that his blue eyes spark with dark interest at the mention of what he and two other boys did to the Parsons brothers. 

“What do you mean by that?” Barnaby asks, leaning forward, keeping his body language as open as possible, making the young murderer think he’s genuinely curious. 

He already knows what the game was, the other boys, Max and Benjamin, had told him and Jones earlier. They’d also shown him the evidence of Toby’s deeply scarred psyche in the scars and bruises that they bore on their bodies. If they hadn’t have gone along with the game, they’d have been dead, too. Or so their story goes. Barnaby’s got his reservations on that point, though Jones is far more inclined to believe what the boys have said. 

“Like I said, it was just a game,” Toby says, leaning forward, smiling conspiratorially. 

His whole body lights up as he launches into the finer details of the game that he’d invented when he was just five years old. At first, he’d only played it with his little brother, and the kittens that lived in the neighborhood. The game expanded to include other boys in the neighborhood over the years, all with less dire results than this current game with the Parsons, but all horrendous nonetheless. 

By the end of his tale, Toby is practically vibrating with excitement, and Barnaby feels sick to his stomach. He’s careful not to let his disgust, and overall unease over what Toby told him, show in his demeanor. It’s something he’s mastered over the years. Jones, however, hasn’t mastered this skill, and he’s a little green around the gills when Toby finishes speaking. 

“The crying game,” Barnaby says in a thoughtful voice, repeating the name that Toby has given the sadistic game that he’s been playing for seven years now. “Clever name.”

Toby smiles, and preens at the praise. Barnaby almost tells Jones that he can leave the room, because it looks like the other man is going to be sick. He doesn’t, though. Jones needs to bear this out. He needs to know that the evil (for lack of a better word) they deal with on a daily basis can take on all sorts of shapes and sizes, including that of a perfectly innocent looking child.

“And you know what the best part is?” Toby says. He’s all smiles. It’s clear that he’s proud of himself, and Barnaby wishes that he could rewind time and undo whatever had happened in this child’s life to make him what he is -- a monster. 

“What’s the best part?” Barnaby asks, dreading the answer, but needing to know. 

“Everyone who cries has to give me something that they value more than anything in the whole world,” Toby says, and Barnaby’s stomach sinks as he realizes where this game went wrong with the Parsons brothers.

“Is that why Robbie Parsons had to die?” Barnaby asks. 

Toby nods. “Ronald cried, you see. It was only fair.”

“Did you make the others eat what they valued most, too?” Jones asks. He’s frowning and Barnaby thinks that he might need a stiff drink, or several, tonight once they’re done.

“Of course not,” Toby says, snorting. “You cry, you pay in pain. You keep crying, you lose what you love. I only made Robbie do that ‘cause he wouldn’t stop crying, and ‘cause I thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Jones asks, and Barnaby places a hand on his arm, keeping him from launching himself at the boy who is giving him a taunting look. 

“Jones, wait outside for me,” Barnaby says, and Toby’s eyes glint in pleasure. He smirks as Jones walks out.

“Toby, you’re clearly a very disturbed young man,” Barnaby says once it’s just the two of them. “I don’t know what your future will hold, but suffice it to say, you will be locked away for a very, very long time.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Toby says. 

“Oh, I won’t,” Barnaby says. 

It’s quite the opposite, in fact. It’s the others that Toby will be encountering at the mental institution, or prison facility he’s going to be placed in that Barnaby worries about, but that’s a problem for someone else. A problem for another day. Another time. Right now, he’s got someone else to worry about. Someone who’s standing just outside the door of interrogation, waiting for him. 

Barnaby hands the boy off to the officer in charge, and finds Jones waiting for him at his desk. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he says, pulling on his jacket, and nodding toward the door. 

“I don’t understand, sir,” Jones says.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t understand how a kid like that, from such a good family could be so...so--”

“Evil?” Barnaby asks.

Jones nods. “And how you could stomach listening to him talk like that.”

“Oh, my stomach is as much turned as yours is,” Barnaby admits. “I’ve just learned not to let it show.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever learn how to do that, sir.”

“You will,” Barnaby says. “Just don’t let it eat you up, or turn you bitter.”

“What’s the trick to that?” Jones asks.

“Join me at the pub, and I’ll show you,” Barnaby says.

It’s a very drunk, singing Jones that ends up accompanying Barnaby home that night. He sets him up in the spare bedroom, removing his shoes and socks as he tucks him into bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Get some sleep, things will look better in the morning,” he promises. 

Joyce is very understanding in the morning when Jones, a little worse for the wear, appears at their table for breakfast. She sets another place, and leaves two aspirin beside a glass of orange juice for Jones, and another two aspirin for her husband.

She kisses her husband, and then, much to the surprise of both men, kisses Jones on the cheek, and pats his hand. “You’re welcome here any time,” she says. 

And that’s that. Neither of them speak of the boy, again, and after some of the more terrible cases when they both need to go out and get drunk, Jones spends the night with the Barnabys, no questions asked. And if there’s a kiss or two that accompanies breakfast, no one needs to know but the three of them.


End file.
